


The Memory of Trees

by Bazylia_de_Grean



Series: To Walk the Same Earth [1]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:48:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21728542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazylia_de_Grean/pseuds/Bazylia_de_Grean
Summary: The history of their people is written in blood over charred trees and houses. Few are willing to learn from it. But some are.
Relationships: Original Character & Original Character
Series: To Walk the Same Earth [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566067
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5
Collections: TTRPG Godsquad





	The Memory of Trees

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rannadylin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rannadylin/gifts), [serenbach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenbach/gifts), [aban_ataashi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aban_ataashi/gifts), [LunaRowena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaRowena/gifts).



The history of their people is written in blood over charred trees and houses. Both the Glanfathans and the Dyrwoodans remember; few are willing to learn from it.

Some are. Uhtric watches the forest, her warriors and scouts, observes their customs and traditions. He remembers not only that their people fought against each other, but also that they fought together. In time, they might be able to live side by side; perhaps never friends, but no longer enemies.

Anwen reads him as he studies her – not to use that knowledge against her, but simply to understand. She owes him no less. They sit by her fire and trade stories, and learn each other’s languages – not the shape of words, but of thoughts.

Patience and respect are solid foundations to build upon. For the good of their people, if not for themselves. He puts duty first, as does she; that is something the Glanfathans can appreciate, even if they will never really welcome him.

Anwen throws pilgrim’s crown into boiling water; a handful of sparks, never burning, but never drowning either. She looks at the waves rippling over the brew as she hands him the cup, and she _knows_. He smiles politely and nods once – a wordless thank-you for her hospitality. When Uhtric meets her eyes over the edge of the cup, she can see that he knows, too. And he accepts.

She does as well. Perhaps peaceful floating on the surface will not be such a terrible fate after all.


End file.
